


the story of you and me (is not a straight line)

by isawsparks



Category: Atypical (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Pining, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22483795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isawsparks/pseuds/isawsparks
Summary: I didn’t stop thinking about you for the rest of the day. Correction: I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I tried. Believe me, I tried. But you just kept popping up. Like those annoying whack-a-mole games at the state fair that are ridiculously rigged, because everyone knows the house always wins.And, maybe this was a little like that too. Maybe we were rigged from the start.(Or, a world where we get to read every one of Izzie's thoughts - of which there are many - from everything we've seen and what we never got to see.)
Relationships: Casey Gardner & Izzie, Casey Gardner/Izzie
Comments: 11
Kudos: 86





	1. preface

I remember the first time I saw you. Not the first time we met, or spoke, or shared a laugh. 

(though I remember those moments too. I remember it all so well that even when I replay every moment in my mind, more often than I might ever admit, it’s like I relive them, I relive us, every moment. Over and over again. Every scene more vivid, every feeling more overwhelming, because the story has already been written, is still being written, and I know _just_ what comes next. Sometimes, most times, I still can’t believe it. Any of this. The story of you and me. And maybe it’s why I spend so much time remembering.)

I remember when I first laid eyes on you. Set sights on you. Watched you. Stalked you? How much time constitutes that? I guess if I’m being honest (something I’ve learned, when it comes to you, there’s _just no other option_ ) I may have been stalking you. Just a little bit. I guess I’ve always had a knack for that. 

This time was no different. Because there I was, posted up right behind you, assessing you. Calculating you. I guess even from the start, I had to learn you. 

I remember thinking _this_ was Casey Gardner? _The_ Casey Gardner from Newton? Somehow, when Crowley had told us about you, this hot shot runner from some shitty town I had never heard of, this was not what I expected. This tall, lanky girl who looked more like a shivering stray than some big time track star. Boy, was I wrong.

( _Of course,_ coach had assigned _me_ as your personal tour guide, “ _I think this will be good for you Izzie. You know I love you but you haven’t always been the most welcoming member of the team.”_ I can’t say those words didn’t sting just the slightest bit, though at the time I wore them like little pins of pride. It was easier that way. What’s a little harder to say is how there’s not a day that goes by where I don’t feel like I totally owe basically my entire life to Coach Crowley -- and not just because she inadvertently brought you to me.)

I remember the way the air smelled; like wet leaves and something else, something vaguely fruity and kind of girly, and it’s only now that I know it was your shampoo ( _just knowing something like that, something so intimately you...it makes me heady in a way that can't be defined._ )

I remember how the air felt. Crisp. Bitingly crisp. Like fall had switched on winter overnight. Maybe even that morning. Maybe even the very first moment our lives crossed paths. Like the weather, or Mother Nature or something else entirely cosmic, knew this was important. Tried to blast this moment into my memory, tried to freeze it there forever.

I think it may have worked. Because everything felt different that morning. Not that I let myself realize it at the time. No, I was too busy sizing you up. I was suiting up, preparing for battle, ready for an all out war. You weren’t going to ruin everything I had worked so hard to achieve, to acquire. You were not going to replace me.

But then I tapped you on the shoulder. I saw your face for the first time. And it felt like a lightening bolt jolting through my veins. 

_That_ face.

Jesus, you were pretty. No, pretty isn’t quite right. Pretty doesn’t scrape the surface. You were magazine beautiful. You were supermodel gorgeous. And while I don’t know what I had expected, some Kiera Knightley look alike (giving _her_ a run for her money) was not anywhere near what I imagined. 

I was staring. I couldn’t stop. You were easily one of the prettiest girls at Clayton. I had to look somewhere else, anywhere else, because looking at you was hard in a way I couldn’t put into words. That I probably still can’t put into words. You looked me straight in the eyes. You sheepishly laughed. It was suddenly hard to breathe. Suddenly impossible to even look, because there you were still. Gorgeous, and tall, and stammering over my name ( _it was_ _the first time I heard that voice wrap around it, hold it like it owned it, and I’m not sure it’s ever let go_ ).

“I’m, like, super nervous.”

You were also extremely sweet. Painfully so. Something now that I know you, and how often vulnerability eludes you, hurts my heart a little. I was _not_ sweet. No, I was even more bitchy than normal. It was one thing knowing I may have to compete with you for a spot on relay, but this...this was something else entirely.

I didn’t know what “this” was, but I knew I couldn’t take it. Handle it. I was used to being in control, and this felt like free falling while standing still which was just one more thing that made, like, zero sense. So, I ended it. Convinced myself I was just threatened because that was easier. That made sense. That was a feeling I knew well. All too well. And it was something I could quickly pinpoint and even more swiftly write off.

“Look, new kid from Newton-”

“Casey is my name actually.” But, you wouldn’t let me. That was not your style. You weren’t that easy. And it infuriated me. Didn’t you see who you were dealing with? You were supposed to be scared of me, not the other way around.

“I’m sure you were hot shit at your last crappy school but over here–”

“Wow. Warm welcome.” You flashed me a shadow of that signature Newton smirk, something I would come to know, come to love, come to literally live for...eventually. “They should put you in the orientation video.”

But eventually was not that day. Eventually was a lifetime away. I was done. “But I’ve heard about you.” I had heard enough about you, but also somehow not enough and that was something I didn’t know how to unpack. Wasn’t aware there was something there to unpack at all.

“Good things?”

You didn’t back down, just like you never back down. And sometimes I think I may have started falling for you right then and there. _God, is that totally lame?_ I don’t know. All I know is I had never met someone with so much confidence. It _exuded_ from you. You seemed to know exactly who you were, even in the Clayton sea of doubt, even before a bitch like me, you remained grounded. Unmoved.

“You punched a girl in the face and got suspended, so, no.” Which is why I had to go for the jugular, feeling safe behind the assumption that you were just as big a bitch as me, not even knowing how far off I was about you, the kind of person you were and are. You know what they say about assumptions and all that. “I worked my ass off to build this team and we don’t need any drama.”

“Um, I don’t want any drama, either. I-”

“Don’t care. Just handle yourself.”

I turned away. Started walking off, feeling relieved. Feeling the air thaw the slightest bit, like everything about that morning was just some strange fluke. Like Casey Gardner was just some cold snap whipping through, ending almost as soon as it began.

“Um, coach said that you were gonna show me around? Is that…”

But, that wasn’t you. No, that could never be you. You were not some flash in the pan, especially when it came to my life.

“Classes are in there.” But I didn’t know that then. I didn’t know the girl before me would be one of the few things that would remain, that would stick. I didn’t know that life as I knew it was over. Didn’t even see it coming. “Good luck.” 

Or, maybe I did. Maybe, even in my clueless oblivion ( _feeling safer hidden behind insecurity rather than exposed with curiosity_ ), I had some sense of what was unfolding.

Because I didn’t wait for your reply. I didn’t even wait for you to open your mouth. You were an eclipse, and I needed to keep moving because if I stayed in place any longer we’d keep talking and I’d keep looking at you and then I’d be the one left blinded. So, I walked away from you, farther and faster, feeling a shiver settle back into my veins. Plowed right through those double front doors like the ribbon at the end of a 400m, more breathless than after any race

Yes, I remember everything. The way your hair kept slipping from behind your ears, and the way your words sounded, the way I remembered every single one of them, the way I would sometimes replay them at night and how they drowned out the chaos that had been my life up until that point.

I remember it all. But it’s the breathlessness I remember most. And maybe the chill that had numbed my body down to the bone, having nothing to do with the winter air.

* * * * 

I didn’t stop thinking about you for the rest of the day. Correction: I _couldn’t_ stop thinking about you. I tried. Believe me, I tried. But you just kept popping up. Like those annoying whack-a-mole games at the state fair that are ridiculously rigged, because everyone knows the house always wins. And, maybe this was a little like that too. Maybe we were rigged from the start.

I just wasn’t used to someone like you. Someone so seemingly sure of herself. Someone who didn’t back down from me. No, you already kept up. Damn, you kept up. So, I told myself anything to justify it. Anything to make it go away. Like, maybe you weren’t altogether there. Or worse, maybe I was just worried you’d unseat my place on the team. And though I told myself that was it, that I was just afraid of being dismantled, replaced...I think I knew better. I think spending my day trying to _not_ picture your stupid perfect face had nothing to do with running fast. 

Or, maybe it had _everything_ to do with that.

I wasn’t exactly being subtle either. I wasn’t more than two feet inside the locker room before I was seeking you out. I hated myself for it. There were really only two reasons to search for you and I couldn’t accept either of them even if one of them was a lie I was telling myself. So I kept telling it. Kept it on an endless loop. You were _my competition_ even though you were actually my teammate and I knew that made no sense but I also couldn’t get into that. Couldn’t get close to it. That kind of rationale would slaughter this carefully crafted narrative.

 _“_ Quinn, you see Newton?”

Quinn looked at me even more puzzled than usual. “Who?”

“Newton.” I was already incredulous, protective over what was supposed to be the _competition_. “The new girl?”

“Oh, right. I thought her name was Casey?” Quinn could _never_ keep up. 

I stared at her blankly, more blankly than ever before. Exasperated. “Casey, Newton. Whatever. You seen her?”

“No.” Recognition graced her face. “Wait, weren’t you supposed to be her chaperone or something? Oh, my God, did you already lose her?”

I didn’t like where this was going. Actually, no, I _hated_ where this was going. I suddenly felt so exposed, felt those feeble lies crumbling the longer Quinn stared at me. The wider her smile grew.

“Ugh, you are _so_ useless.” So, I got going. Fast. Running from my feelings which is a race I couldn’t win. Would never win.

“Jesus, Izzie, who pissed you off today?”

I heard Quinn shout in the distance, knowing it came with a snicker and an eye roll and it would normally drive me mad because no one treated me like that. _No one_. But it was her question that drove me madder. The answer, the truth, was both simple and crippling. The answer was a girl I had only just met who had done nothing but existed. I didn’t know how to explain that to Quinn. I couldn’t explain it to myself. I couldn’t even try. 

So, I kept telling myself those feather light lies. 

And every time the wind blew, I’d watch them disappear.

* * * *

“Hi!”

I hadn’t pictured it right. Your face. The loop it played in my head all day was all wrong. Because out here on the front lawn, amongst the rest of this suddenly faceless team, yours was annoyingly more pretty and you were just in your running gear. It didn’t feel fair. None of this did for reasons too hot to touch. And I couldn’t keep that feeling to myself.

“You look tired, Newton. Tough day?”

I kept up the bitch charade. Acted on impulse and auto-pilot. Cause Crowley _was_ right. I wasn’t the nicest player on the team, and proving that not only felt easiest. In that moment, it felt safest. It felt like the only thing that kept _me_ grounded. Unmoved.

“No. It’s been great.”

But, you didn’t make it easy.

“Found your way around all right?”

And, I wasn’t backing down.

“Yeah. Actually this super helpful girl showed me around, so...” An indescribable smile slowly spread across your face, aimed straight at me, and it twisted my stomach into a knot that I don’t think truly untied until that night on the track, if it ever did.

You had an answer for everything and it made me crazy but I also couldn’t stop participating, no matter how hard I tried. This banter was supposed to be barking. It was supposed to push you back far, far away from me. But that’s not what this did. Not even close. This banter was something else. This banter was something like flirting, but even that had never come so easily.

I almost started running right then and there, mid-stretch, wordlessly leaving all of this behind as if someone had just yelled “fire”. (In a way, something kind of had. A siren started ringing, somewhere deep, deep inside, between my ribs and my lungs, and it would only get louder.)

But then Quinn and Penelope started talking to you. Took your eyes off me. Gave me a chance to look you over. _Again._ Why couldn’t I stop doing that? I never thought about it long enough to figure out the answer. It would take me _months_ to even ask the question again.

Penelope started in on your shoes. Condescending how cool they were and how she liked when they were _old and worn_ like yours. That got my attention, took it away from your face ( _fucking finally_ ), shot it down to your shoes, and that’s when I first realized it; you weren’t like the other girls. Maybe you were nothing like these Clayton squares. Maybe you were a round peg, just like me, just trying to jam in.

It changed everything, if only for a moment. It dropped my walls just long enough to look at you with new eyes. Finally, I was able to look at you, not so scared anymore. Not so afraid.

But, it was only a moment. “What’d you do for break, Newton?” Quinn’s voice brought it all back to the surface. 

_Newton_. I had inadvertently nicknamed you and it lamely made me feel like I couldn’t breathe because I now I felt like we shared something, just between us, and the siren in my heart started ringing the slightest bit louder.

“Um. Nothing really. Went to, uh, Target a couple times.”

Then came the laughter. Almost roaring. This team, these girls, they didn’t get you. Would never get you, and maybe I knew a little something about that. Maybe I knew _exactly_ how that felt. And maybe it’s why I wanted to shut them up. Silence them.

But, I couldn’t. I _just_ couldn’t. I wasn’t that brave. Not yet, anyway.

And you were already up and running, gone like an eclipse, like a ghost, like a cold snap whipping through.

* * * *

I didn’t see you again for the rest of practice. Made me wonder if you got lost on the trail run. Made me wonder if it was my fault. Made me wonder why I was wondering.

So, I stopped.

For once, I was happy to come back to the chaos of home. Knew it would end all that wondering. Silence that internal alarm. It’s hard to think of anything remotely outside the moment when you live with two kids, a baby, and an absent mother; absent even when she was home.

But, no one was there. Just a note on the kitchen counter, scribbled off center about how mom took the kids to a movie and _there were leftovers in the fridge_ . I had to laugh, incredulously, feeling the cruelty of karma. _Of course_ the one time I could have used the distraction of reality, mom was in one of her rare normal stretches. They came and went like the breeze. Like a cold snap. Like a new girl at school who turns your entire life upside down simply for showing up.

I felt terrible. Awful. Like, literally _The Worst_ because mom being normal and present was a _good_ thing. A _fucking_ great thing. It was the only thing that made life feel, like, bearable. Like, reaching the top of the ocean after swimming up, and up, and up for what felt like forever.

Suddenly, I wasn’t so hungry. I wasn’t much of anything. I took to my bedroom, the one I shared with my 11 year old sister, the one I usually couldn’t stand because _I was basically an adult_ and of all the unfair aspects of my life (the ones I barely ever let myself think about because while I may be a bitch, I will never be a pity party) this is the one I let bother me the most. Having to share the majority of my space with a child.

But that day felt different. That day it was kind of a relief being surrounded by Ellie’s cheer ribbons, and colorful lip glosses that were really just chapstick, and _all_ those photos of her friends (another little something that nibbled at me because my walls were so blindingly blank that when you looked at both our respective sides from a distance, a stark line could be seen between the brilliant color of my baby sister’s life, and the nothing that was mine). 

But that day it didn’t bother me so much. That day it was nice feeling annoyed by the things I understood, that made sense.

As if on cue, my phone buzzed. It was Nate and it was the first time I had thought of him _all day_ . l forgot about my boyfriend. Forgot I even _had_ one. I was paralyzed. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at his text. Told myself it was out of guilt for not thinking about him. Not even once. I didn’t let myself feel that _other_ guilt. The one that was on the periphery, just out of reach. The one that felt kind of like cheating. Infidelity strictly by thought. Which was even more confusing because those thoughts were nothing like want and desire. The thoughts that ran through my mind all day felt more like a fight, like a struggle that could not be won, like fighting gravity.

(If I had any self awareness at the time I’d realize that those two things were not so different. In fact, when it came to you, they were _exactly_ the same. But, I’d realize it soon enough.)

It took me 20 minutes to open my phone. It took me another five minutes to ignore the red alert of Nate’s text. I couldn’t see what he wanted. I _just_ couldn’t. So, I opened instagram instead. I fiddled around with my feed before I searched for the one thing I ignored all day.

It didn’t take long. I found it. Found you. _casetherace_. I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. I was pathetically thankful it wasn’t private. Just like I’d eventually learn, you were not afraid to be known, to be seen. 

I toed the line. I glanced at just the surface, as if I wasn’t doing what I was really doing. As if I wasn’t dying to see more, to see everything. 

As if I wasn’t stalking you. Which was _exactly_ what I was doing. 

It took 10 minutes before I finally dived in. Before I completely drowned myself. Picture after picture flooded my senses. Picture after picture of your family and friends and barbecues and bright white smiles and a life fully lived. A normal life. A life I would never have.

I couldn’t look anymore. Told myself another lie. Blamed it on the unfairness of someone else having everything I wanted. Couldn’t see that maybe I was the only person standing in front of the things I wanted.

I resorted back to what I knew. I reached out to the one person I didn’t want to see, but also _had_ to see, even if I couldn’t even be bothered to remember him. 

He responded before typing bubbles could even appear. _Be there in 5._

* * * *

I didn’t think about you again. Not that night. Not even once. Not even when Nate mentioned _Lacey_ from fourth period History and my mind _almost_ wandered.

I didn’t let it. I was good. I was ok. I was almost _proud_. 

And long after Nate had left, long after I had showered him off me, I fell into a deep sleep, as if the world had finally adjusted itself. As if Life had finally returned to its _right_ axis.

Yeah, life would go back to normal. The world would show some semblance of the way it was. 

But you and I both know it wouldn’t last long. You and I both know how this story goes, and we’re only just getting started.

Because I remember everything. 

Because you were an eclipse.

And I was about to be blinded.


	2. prologue

The truth is I had felt this way once before. Not so long ago. Just last year. Her name was Amy and she so effortlessly got under my skin. She found a way to get to me, burrowed in so deep she became a monster _inside_ me. She didn’t even do anything, kind of like you. ( _Though she was nothing like you, nothing crossed over except for maybe that nagging feeling ignited in my brain, the one that felt like I’d left a hair straightener on in a home I could no longer find)._

Amy only smiled. Amy only laughed. But it wasn’t just a laugh. It was paired with what should have been an embarrassing snort but it was _not_ embarrassing. It was nothing of the sort. It was unquestionably adorable. And she laughed that melodic little noise at every single stupid thing that came out of my mouth and it pathetically filled all these little crevices that had been fissured from a life of being forgotten. 

Well, I couldn’t stand to be around _that_ for too long. That felt like the surface of an iceberg problem, something to be totally avoided. Or, maybe that was just Amy. Well, whatever she was, I couldn’t stand to be around her. Not for a second. I couldn’t even be a bitch to her which was infinitely worse than my problem with proximity. She was naively sweet, still untouched from life’s realities. She was shy, unbearably shy. She was booksmart and beautiful and someone who didn’t know they were either. 

It turned out being snappy with someone like that...wasn’t what it was cracked up to be. Sparring with someone who never said anything remotely mean back felt more like something out of some teen movie where the villain is so unbearably cruel they border on a caricature. 

It kind of dawned on me that maybe the monster inside was only me.

(What never dawned on me was how Amy’s eyes were brown like coffee, and her hair was so blonde it touched white, and when she wrote in her notebook she’d chew on her bottom lip, and when she walked she moved like a dancer and I always wanted to ask her if she danced because I’d never seen anyone move like that, and ... I couldn’t stop noticing any of this. These little tidbits. I stockpiled them, these little pieces of a person I avoided like I would sink if I didn’t.)

So I left her alone. I was the Titanic and I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. The universe helped. One day she was gone. She had transferred schools, which made no sense. Clayton Prep was the best school in the state and Amy was the best student in the school. Why would she go _somewhere_ else? The question had no answer. Except for the quiet moments in my mind when there absolutely was an answer. Because Clayton Prep _was_ like some teen movie. It was everything cliche about being fifteen and I was apart of that. Maybe I was _all_ of that. Maybe I was the reason, maybe I was Amy’s iceberg, and maybe I was the only thing cliche about Clayton.

Amy had been erased out of an unsolvable equation, and with that came some semblance of normalcy. Some sense of relief. Some twinge of sadness I'd rarely let myself feel. And even then I'd blame it on the weather, or my period, or literally anything else I could come up with, no matter how mortifying or nonsensical.

I didn't have to cover for myself for long though. I found a new distraction. Or maybe he found me. Nate had officially entered my atmosphere. He was persistent, I gotta give him that. He started catching me after our one class together. He started dropping by my locker. He eventually learned my schedule, would show up outside my classes at _just_ the right time, like it was an accident. Like it wasn't fully planned. I can't lie and say that wasn't a little bit sweet. I can't lie and say that a lot of it felt nice being noticed. Being wanted. And though I didn’t know how I actually felt about him (only knew how I was _supposed_ to feel) I showed him the littlest bit of interest back. 

I never thought about how he had showed Amy the littlest bit of interest first and how when I first heard the rumors they were hanging out it consumed me like carbon monoxide. Poisoned me slowly and silently. Couldn’t even pinpoint what was happening until it was too late. Until it was confirmed they actually _were_ together, and suddenly there was a grease fire in my stomach. Something impossible to extinguish.

No, I didn't think about that.

And I definitely didn’t think about that one time Nate mentioned how much Amy talked about me (which was apparently _all the time)_ and how he almost sounded jealous and I didn't know how to feel about that so I kissed him. I almost slept with him that night, just to make the words _all the time_ stop ringing in my ears. I'd ruminate over those three little words, as if they belonged to a Rubik's cube. I'd twist them and turn them until some sort of pattern would emerge. But it would never emerge. And I never thought about that either.

I never thought about how those three little words were maybe the reason I agreed to make Nate my boyfriend, my _first_ boyfriend, and how maybe I was confusing which three words should be the catalyst to that kind of decision. 

No, I never thought about any of that. I never thought of anything.

And when I kissed Nate, always at an arm's length at first, Inever thought about the way he kissed me. Or the way he might have kissed Amy. 

Or, the way Amy kissed him.

* * * *

If I’m being honest, and I'm trying _really_ hard to be honest. This had actually kind of happened once before Amy.

This had happened my whole life and it started with a girl named Megan. A girl that came long before anyone. The girl who came with the beginning of everything. The girl whose name was said so often next to mine they ended up mixing and blending together. _Megan and Izzie. MeganandIzzie. Meganizzie._

We were inseparable. Childhood friends brought together solely by mothers who were friends. Mothers who now when I really think about it probably only partied together. Because there were a lot of nights where it was just _Meganizzie_. There were maybe more than just nights. There was maybe an entire childhood of being raised by each other, like built in babysitters.

She was my lifeline. I was hers. And that was that.

Until it wasn't. Until the umpteenth time we were left to our own devices. Left in charge of each other and my sisters. We were newly minted teenagers and things were changing. We were growing up, I could literally feel it, and I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

Though I knew how I felt when Megan found my mom’s liquor collection. Not that it was hard to find. Not that my mom didn’t keep her fully stocked stash right out in the open. A centerpiece to the living room. Like a fixture to pray to, a shrine to kneel before. And when I really think about it, that is exactly what it was. 

(Except it wasn’t anything like that. Not at all. That bar and all its glistening contents were the monsters in my closet, the monsters under my bed. The real monsters inside of me that were also right out in the open. And it would take me a stiff prescription of reflection and therapy to unpack all of that, to figure out how that bar actually felt growing up.)

Nevertheless, when Megan snaked that bottle of vodka (there was, of course, more than just one), when she pulled me upstairs to my bedroom (it only belonged to me at that time, maybe belonged to us both), when she whispered _you wanna try some_ as if someone would hear us but there was no one to hear us, there was only us and two snoring girls in the room next door, I couldn’t help but oblige. Fell victim to a peer pressure that felt _nothing_ like all those school assemblies had taught me. This didn’t feel like a gun to my head. This felt like a gun in my hands, like power and control and a freedom that was kinda scary but also thrilling.

In the grand tradition of teens drinking for the first time, we had no idea what we were doing. We drank that vodka straight from a pint glass. Quickly realized _that_ was not for us. So we tried the tequila. Then we tried the gin. Then we settled for beer. Like free samples at a grocery store, we touched it all, and with it, I lost touch with everything else.

First, went my ability to say words, to sound them out, to chew on them and roll them into something comprehensible. 

Second, went my world; it tilted and spun like we were in a snow globe in a gift store that customers kept picking up and putting back down, throwing us more off balance each time.

The last thing to go was my memory. Somewhere between us laughing on the floor and tangling into a mess on my bed, merged as our two names, things started to get a little fuzzy. I couldn’t remember details. The stuff I usually lived for. Like, was it her hand that lightly covered mine? That traced my every finger, ran down my arm, over my side, and back up again. Repeating a dizzying pattern that had me wondering if she was the one who kept picking us up and putting us back down again. 

Was it her eyes that glanced over mine, drifted down to my lips, and then back up again? Did they stay there, fixed? Locked and loaded? Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me, convinces me it all happened. That she really _was_ looking at me like that, like I was something to be had (like maybe I already had been had, like the fix was in and I was the last to know) because how could a person forget something like that? Forget a moment that felt like both a pillow to my face and paddles to my chest which was absolutely _terrifying._

But the thing that scared me the most were the moments that could not be filled in. That were just blank, without a snapshot or a supercut to hold it together. Just a long stretch, a valley, between the moments my memory teased me with and the moment I felt so dizzy I almost vomited. Which is exactly what I did. The entirety of every alcohol under the sun stopped playing nice in my system, leaving me alone and shivering in my bathroom, trying to throw up _quietly_ which was just _fucking_ impossible, but I didn’t know what else to do. There was a panic in my chest that felt like a stranger. That did not belong to me. Why was I so worried? My knocked out mother wouldn’t hear me. She never heard me, not even when I was speaking directly to her.

I ended up sleeping right there, cold and sprawled across the dirty tiles of the bathroom floor. Maybe I was too tired to move, maybe it was safer to stay there in case I got sick again. Or maybe I was just too afraid to go back to a room that was starting to feel like a danger zone. Like the first entry on a no fly list. 

It was barely morning when I woke up, and as I tentatively crept down the hall, as I creaked open my bedroom door, a new kind of worry had built a home inside my brain. 

Megan wasn’t there. She was gone and so were all her things. She even made the bed, which was so troubling because it was so unusual for a tornado like her, and to this day I stupidly wonder if she had made it before she left or if she had never used it in the first place. I don’t know which bothered me more. The thought of her wanting it to _appear_ as if she was never there, or if she was _actually_ never there. 

I felt sick again. This time having nothing to do with alcohol. This time had everything to do with the sharpest fear shooting through my system. It kept building and building, starting in my stomach and seeping everywhere else. The thought of having ruined something without even knowing how or why. It rumbled low in my gut; the panic, exhaustion, and, ok sure, maybe a little bit of the alcohol. 

I texted her. My fingers moved at a speed that relied entirely on autocorrect. Didn’t even care when some of the words were comically wrong. I was panicked. I was _totally_ spiraling. Message after message I sent. They piled up, sky high, without a response. It was like the more she didn’t respond to me the more I had to say to her - which wasn’t even a lot to begin with. Just incoherent thoughts. Just her name. Over and over. 

We always responded to each other. There was never any other option. No matter the day nor the hour. And then I cruelly realized the reason for that. We were always together. _Always_. There was no reason to text the person beside you. The person whose name blended so well with yours that together they became something new.

I tried to sleep it off. Tried to leave my phone alone. But it was useless. Every time my phone lit up, every time a stupid alert chimed, hell, every time a car drove by, I reached for it. Every time I was left with nothing.

And, even though I couldn’t remember, I knew...I just _knew_ something bad had happened. Something was wrong. Something was _so_ wrong. 

I stayed in bed all day.

I never heard from her.

And, in the grand tradition of hungover and regretful people, I swore off alcohol for the rest of my life.

* * * * 

  
  


The rest of the _Meganizzie_ story played out like some sort of slow motion nightmare. 

She never responded. And she never came over. 

Megan never spoke to me again and it felt like a chapter, an entire book, maybe the entire library of my life had been closed. Had been discontinued.

I would replay that one night in my mind over and over again, like fighting to finish a puzzle when you know half the pieces are missing. 

I think it’s what made me start running. Like maybe I could outrun my thoughts. Outrun that one night. Outrun _her._

It didn’t work.

But it did grab someone’s attention. Someone who could and would change the trajectory of my life. Coach Crowley had accidentally caught one of my races. Coach Crowley, recruiting someone else, ended up staying for me and that felt like some sort of metaphor for what had been my entire life but I didn’t care. Because soon came the offer to attend Clatyon prep. Soon I’d run on its track team. And I’d never have to see Megan again. I’d never have to think of her. I’d never think of that night. 

But I would think of that night, even if I didn’t realize it, even if I didn’t remember it. That night stayed nestled in my brain, buried in the home my worry had built for it. I was _never_ going to have a friend like that again. I might never have any friends ever again, just to make sure of it.

Because I built a wall without a door around the broken heart inside my chest. I closed it off and locked it up and sealed it shut. Hoped that heart might heal, might recover, if I just ignored it. If I just protected it. Or maybe I hoped nothing would happen and I’d forget about it entirely. I wasn’t sure what I hoped for, but I knew what felt safest. What felt easiest.

Why feel for anyone when everyone was so _temporary?_

When even family wasn’t permanent. When even my mom started to disappear. When I’d have to watch her slowly fade away from me, from everything, and not be able to do a damn thing about it and my entire world (the one I naively thought had already fallen apart) came crashing down. My life was dissecting, breaking into tiny fragments like fiberglass, sandpapering my skin when I got too close. So much of my world had fractured so quickly, I wondered if there’d be anything left for when I was older. I started to wonder if I’d even make it that far.

But then mom miraculously had the baby. Justin had joined our quilted family and suddenly it was like a thread and needle started to weave through the frayed edges of my life. 

Thankfully, my life had been given purpose. I had a clear path to take, and I didn’t waste one second running down it. I was going to take care of my brother and my sisters. I was going to be there for them when my mom couldn't. I would not let happen to them what had happened to me. 

And, I wasn’t going to let Coach Crowley down. I wasn't going to let _myself_ down. I was going to go to every class. I was going to work _my ass off_ and I was going to go to the best college offered to me. 

I was going to be a bitch to anyone who deserved it. Hell, to anyone who didn't deserve it. I was going to ward off anyone who tried to detour that path. Anyone who simply got near it, even if they seemed like they only wanted to help. Even if they came in the form of a bookworm girl who probably didn’t want anything from me but conversation, if she event wanted that.

I shut everyone and everything out, even my boyfriend. _Especially_ him. I never really figured out how I felt about Nate but somewhere along the way I stopped caring. Because he made for a great distraction. He was a great wall to hide behind.

I have to admit, it worked for awhile. It worked better than it ever should have because no matter how hurt I was, that was never a life I wanted. 

And then you showed up. As if you knew that. As if you heard my silent pleas, silent to even me.

You came along, and the plan all of a sudden changed. The path started making room for two. And it _t_ _errified_ me. I didn't know how to do _this_. Any of it. I didn't know how to forget the lessons I was supposed to have learned from the mistakes I couldn't remember. But I quickly realized it didn't matter. None of it. I couldn't control it nor could I stop it. And I didn't want to.

The fix was in, and this time I knew it.

I felt a new library being built, one bigger and brighter than before. One ready to be filled with memories of a life that had been cracked open again. 

But that wasn't quite right.

The longer you stuck around, I felt my life seal back up. Like you came with a hammer and nails and not only did you build me a place to remember, but you started repairing a life that had been left in pieces. Just by simply being there. Just by being _you_.

Eventually you'd take those tools and you'd start building a door on that heart. The one I thought I had forgotten about. The one I thought I _wanted_ to forget about. 

Yeah, you built a door on that heart, Newton.

And one day, before you even knew it, I finally let you walk through it. 


	3. the butterfly effect is a real and dangerous thing (kind of like you)

If I were a writer, I wouldn’t change the story of us.

I wouldn’t take a red pen to the story of you and me. 

Everything happened the way it should; the way it was supposed to. Besides, I've seen enough movies to know that one little change in the past spirals into a series of disastrous changes in the future because the butterfly effect is _not_ something to be fucked with.

I may not know much about science or astrology or much of anything really, but I know a thing or two about _that_.

So, I’m leaving well enough ( _amazing_ enough) alone.

That doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes think about the things I’d do differently. Not the big stuff. I wouldn’t change those for the world. I wouldn’t take back any of the big moves I made towards you; every pseudo confession, every flimsy excuse to get close to you, which was never close enough. Proximity was a problem when it came to you too, but it was different than all the times before. This time I aimed for the iceberg. I worked for the collision -- wanted it to drown me.

(The collision came the night on the track, even though there had been so many days and nights on the track, there was only one cemented in my mind and while I knew I was drowning, knew I was sinking so far below the surface, it only felt like being able to breathe for the first time.)

Maybe there isn’t anything I’d do differently, because every decision, stupid or not, brought me to that night on the track. Brought me to that night in your bedroom where I finally shared only half of what I hid. Brought me to every night in your bedroom, the centerpiece to every milestone in the book of our lives.

I wouldn’t want to lose any part of the journey that brought me to you because the butterfly effect is both a real and dangerous thing. Which is kind of how you felt at the start. For the parts I sometimes wish I could skip over, but, thankfully, never do.

* * * * 

I saw the two of you before either of you saw me. 

And, I admit, it was a little like spying. A little like snooping. I never dropped by Nate’s locker. No, that was a right reserved for him. He only dropped by mine. So I guess that was a right reserved for _me_.

I don’t know why I swung by Nate’s locker that day. I was pulled there. Something nagged at me. Something otherworldly. I’d tell myself it was from the whispers I’d heard in the hallway. The ones that always involved a different girl. 

(The high school rumor mill worked very hard. And, in a private prep school, that mill worked overtime.)

The sad thing was that I didn’t even really care. Not about the girls. Not about Nate doing whatever it was he wanted. I knew on some level he already had, had probably been living a separate life outside of _us_ since the beginning of us.

That didn’t nag at me. Not like it probably should.

What did nag at me, however, was the mortifying dread that an entire school body was laughing at me. That they saw through our sham relationship, clearer than I could. That all of Clayton prep knew me better than I knew myself.

So, maybe it wasn’t something otherworldly. Maybe it was just the very real fear of being found out.

As soon as I rounded the corner near his locker, I stopped at the sight before me like I’d smacked into a plate glass window. The level of pain and embarrassment that filled my insides made me wonder if I actually really had. Suddenly, I was confronted by _you_. Both of you. Nate and you. You and Nate.

Something else nagged at me. Something bright and shiny and brand new.

Of _course_ it was you. 

But, also, how could it be you? I thought we had figured this out. I thought I had made it clear that boundaries had been set. We had settled into a rhythm. A routine. A way to coexist. I avoided you, and you...well, I guess I didn’t really know what you had agreed to, what rules you followed, what boundaries you lived inside. Maybe I was the only one carefully mapping out my life to avoid running into yours and boy, did _that_ realization nag at me more than a cheating boyfriend.

You were just living your life. Unaware of the turmoil it had set upon mine. And that turmoil just kept turning. You had a locker _right_ next to my boyfriend. Avoiding you now was absolutely _futile._

There you were, laughing and yucking it up with someone I should have been laughing and yucking it up with but couldn’t even be bothered to visit. Barely could remember where his locker was.

There you were, looking like you were _his_ girlfriend, fitting together better than he and I ever did. If we ever fit together in the first place.

Suddenly, the nagging stopped. Swiftly replaced with a shrieking and yanking feeling in my chest, threatening to tear me apart.

I felt my heart thumping in my ears as I watched you like you had not a care in the world. I watched you two in slow motion, feeling all my cares in the world colliding into a snarled mess. I had felt this once before. This was another iceberg problem, and I was the Titanic, and I was about to make contact.

I had to course correct.

“Nate!” I course corrected directly into him with a kiss that actually, pathetically surprised him. I was never really one for PDA. But that day was different. That day I would have practically slept with him right there and then just to ward you off, ward _myself_ off. “I see you met Newton?”

I tried so hard for casual as I glanced your way. Like I hadn’t just been staring you down. Like I hadn’t been completely avoiding you for the past 24 hours.

You looked bashful and almost uncomfortable and I knew it was probably from me and my outward display of affection. I was practically lifting a leg and it made me want to die. Nate was never something I marked as mine, could barely kiss him in private, let alone in public. He was _never_ worth that kind of effort.

(Maybe it wasn’t such a wonder he cheated on me. I can’t say I blame him. I can’t say I didn’t practically encourage it.)

“I thought your name was Casey?” Nate asked the question everyone kept asking and why was everyone asking that? I wanted to die even more. A slow painful death. Why did I keep calling you that? Why did I refuse to refer to you by your name? Why could I _not_ call you Casey?

You were about to answer, as if for me, like you were doing me a favor, and I couldn’t handle that either. Didn’t want to hear what you might have thought about my inability to just be _normal._

“Bye, Newton!”

And there it was again. My nickname for you. It rang in my ears, reverberated down the endless halls of Clayton Prep. Hell, it could have rang from Newton’s church bell, it was so loud. I had a nickname for you. Something only friends have. Something only the closest of friends create for each other. And I couldn’t stop it. Couldn't stop myself. I was completely incapable of it. No matter how hard I tried, I just made it worse. 

The humiliation, the sight of _You &Nate _ together, it twisted my insides so much that as soon as we rounded the corner, I crashed into Nate like _he_ was the plate glass window. Smothered him with pathetic see through kisses. Hoped he wouldn’t see through them. 

And, when you eventually turned that same corner, almost crashing right into us (which would have just been the cherry on top of the ridiculous spectacle I was putting on for nobody but myself) I told myself I didn’t care when I cared _so_ much. Wondered if you saw those glass thin kisses for what they were, for what they felt like. 

You looked a little fazed by us, and maybe a little annoyed. Like, maybe you were wondering why we weren’t aware of your boundaries. And I was wondering what gave you the right to be annoyed at something that annoyed me too, but for entirely different reasons. 

You looked a little like something else too and I spent half the day convincing myself I didn’t see it. The lost look on your face. Didn’t hear your muffled _sorry_ into the thinning air between the three of us ( _a premonition of things to come_ ). Didn’t see you zig zag down the hall, walking into wrong classroom after wrong classroom, like you could _not_ get yourself sorted.

It was that sight, the one I stopped convincing myself I didn’t see, that had me spending the rest of my day realizing you probably weren’t thinking about me at all. Felt so foolish that I ever thought you were. 

Maybe you had bigger fish to fry. Maybe you were figuring out the maze of a new school. Maybe you were navigating the war zone that was Clayton. Living through the worst cliches from every bad teen movie.

And maybe I was done being the villain. 

This time, maybe I’d be something different. Something better.

* * * * 

It wasn’t easy. 

Becoming the heroine was damn near impossible. 

Especially running *beside you at practice. 

_(*behind you at my_ _practice_.) 

I wanted so badly to be the bigger person. Be the person I thought I could be just hours before. But you kept up ( _a trend that followed you in every way_ ) and I did _not_ like to be kept up with, not when it came to running. I was always the one ahead. I was the one leading the way. I was The Control. I gave the other girls something to measure themselves against. Measure themselves up to.

Suddenly, I was one of them, one of the girls, and I was measuring myself up to _you._

And that was always going to be a bitter pill to swallow, no matter how big a person I’d become. No matter how big _you’d_ become; in my life, in my heart, in my entire world. My competitive streak would never dim or go away and _thank god_ that never seemed to bother you.

(The first time you told me you loved me -- you’d be the first one to say it because it _had_ to be you, because you knew it was _your_ turn to take a big leap and let me follow your lead -- you’d tell me my competitiveness was the first thing you noticed about me, liked about me, loved about me.)

I couldn’t take feeling like I was sinking to second place. Sure I could hide it hidden behind a corner in a hallway, could bottle all those feelings deep inside until I could throw them all onto my unsuspecting boyfriend. But Nate wasn’t there for me to project all my unwanted feelings. There was only you, and that wasn’t really an option. 

But I also couldn’t help it. “You’re slowing down, Newton.” I taunted you and you simply glanced over at me, like you didn’t even remember I was ever there and I couldn’t say _that_ simple move didn’t taunt _me_.

You picked up the speed, went into double time like it was nothing.

That taunted me even more. I ran as hard as I could.

“Hey, this isn’t a sprint! Knock it off, ladies!” Crawley yelled from some distant corner, but I could barely hear her. I could only hear my hurried breaths, our feet on the gravel, my heart still thumping wildly in my chest from that morning, let alone from a sprint for my life.

I couldn’t keep up with you. Would never be able to keep up with you. I knew it right then and there. You were superhuman fast. You were unreal, really, and I was always going to trail you. I would always be more than a few steps behind you. The realization hit like a bucket of cold water.

(Someday I would be ok with this. I would be happy just to run beside you, even behind you. Someday I would let you eclipse me, and I would stand back in awe, because I liked to watch. Because I wanted to be blinded by the supernatural sight before me. But that day was not someday.) 

I couldn’t stop looking at you - which went against the basics of Track 101. Never watch your opponent. Keep your eyes trained ahead. Focus on the finish line. The finish line had somehow become you, and it was becoming obvious to everyone but me.

Until it was obvious even to me. I tripped over my own two feet, fell in the most ineloquent manner a person could fall over themselves. Added another ridiculous spectacle to the pile I had created earlier that morning.

“Oh, my God, are you ok?” You asked, sincerely, worried for me. Like I was hurt, like _you_ had hurt me when I was the one who started this mess. When I turned a cool down into a damn death race.

“You _pushed_ me.” So, I responded accordingly. I responded like a child, because responding any other way would have broken me. Would have sounded something like I fell because I couldn’t keep up. Because you blinded me. Because of an iceberg problem. Because of all the icebergs that came before. 

Because a sleepover I buried so deep in my memory graveyard was starting to resurface. That skeleton was becoming a zombie and I’d never be able to outrun that either. 

“No.” You shook your head, looking even more worried, but this time for yourself, seeing the villain before you, seeing her for the first time. “I didn’t.” You looked to Crawley, and back to me. You looked for help like you were sinking, like the Titanic had crashed into you and you didn’t even have a door to cling to, “I-I didn’t.”

Coach Crawley looked beyond _over_ it but she still did her due diligence. Quietly asked “You ok, Iz?” 

I cradled my wrist like it was Justin, something precious that could easily be broken. But it wasn’t broken, wasn’t even sore, and I was starting to feel a little embarrassed from such a disproportionate reaction to losing a race I had started with myself. “Yeah. I think so.”

I looked back at you, like I could throw that feeling onto you. But you were looking at Coach Crawley. Who was looking at us both like we were actual children which was a look that should have been reserved for only one of us.

“Well, I guess that covers it. Now that you’ve completely derailed practice, you can go ice that wrist in my office. Gardner, you can escort her there.”

I wasn’t surprised. I expected that to be Crawley’s response to the point that I almost wonder if it’s exactly what I wanted in the first place.

What I didn’t expect was how you eventually glanced at me, not for help or out of concern, but almost out of exhaustion, and not just from running (the fact you weren’t even the slightest bit winded was a whole other story). I didn’t expect you to roll your eyes at me, point them to the sky, like you were fully annoyed with both just for existing. I didn’t expect you to walk off without me, not even helping me up from the ground, a place I was still blaming you for having put me.

And I didn’t expect to expect so much. I didn’t know why I thought you’d behave any other way. Because I had created this world, I had set these boundaries. You were finally playing by my rules.

I just didn’t expect to be so hurt by them.

  
  


* * * * 

Being called into Coach Crawley’s office always felt a little like standing on the edge of a high dive board. And, no matter the reason, hearing what she had to say always felt like being pushed right off that board, plunging into the waters of something I didn’t want to admit. Feeling the harsh shock of something I could be doing better. 

“You don’t have to love each other, but you have to love each other.” 

So, it was really no surprise that that is where we would end up, where it would happen. The actual beginning of us. The real one. The one I’d go back and erase all that came beforehand if I could. If the butterfly effect wasn’t so terrifying, wasn’t even more terrifying than the smallest office in the entire school. 

“Casey, you’ll ice Izzie’s wrist and you’ll both stay in here until you can get along.”

But, I still didn’t realize it. I was on the board, cold and wet, waiting to be shoved once again. And, just like every other time I sat in that same chair in that same office, I was not ready for the fall. I was still kicking and screaming the entire way up the ladder.

At some point, Crawley got up and while you two were still talking, I didn’t really know what you were talking about. You were on a different station. Your voices were distant, barely coming through, like maybe I was dreaming. Maybe this was all in my head.

I would have believed it if it weren’t for your burning body in a chair no more than three feet from me. A fact I felt within an inch of my life. My spidey senses were on high alert, they weighed me down like I had already been pushed off that board. And maybe I had been.

Because you were still sitting there, and you had barely moved an inch. You were an accident and I was doing everything in my power to not look at the carnage. The damage of what I had maybe done. The damage of being stuck miles above a pool of dark water.

“You know what? No, you didn’t.” 

And then Coach was gone. She was gone and it was just you and me. This was happening. The one thing I had been avoiding because I knew it would upset me more than my cheating boyfriend was really happening and I low key felt the walls closing in. Boundaries beyond the both us were being set and we had no choice but to sit there. Together. 

I felt you sneak all of these tiny glimpses my way, like you had a nervous tic or something and I realized this time in Coach’s office wasn’t like waiting to be pushed into darkness. This was like being trapped in a panic room with a tsunami.

The walls practically suffocated me.

It wasn’t until you lunged forward, grabbing an ice pack for my “injury” (something I had pathetically forgotten about, so much so I almost snapped _what the hell is that for_ ), that I could even chance a glance in your direction. Your general vicinity. I was such a total coward that even my subconscious was making fun of me. Calling me all the awful names I reserved for everyone else.

“I can do it myself.” So I jumped into action. Stopped being such a baby about it, about everything, about you. I was Izzie Davis and it was time I acted like it. “I need to make a phone call but someone pushed me. So, now I can’t use my wrist.”

It wasn’t remotely close to Izzie Davis. It was something closer to what Ellie might say, or Justin might garble. But it was better than being terrified of someone who didn’t really seem to care.

“I didn’t push you.” You laughed, disbelieving the situation you had been thrown in. Unaware that I was flailing in the air, falling to new depths. “I was nowhere near you.” Because you never backed down. You were the opposite of a coward.

I was more than happy to play that role. “Well whatever. Can you just hand me my phone out of my backpack please?” 

I just _needed_ a minute. I needed less proximity. The space between us was the smallest it had ever been since day one and I felt my resolve wearing thin. This was just exhausting, more exhausting than any track meet or cross country jog. This was a race with myself. This was a race against an iceberg. A race with a zombie.

And I didn’t know how to win any of those. Didn’t know if there even was a way. Maybe quitting was the only option.

You actually listened, obliged. Grumbled something about not pushing me and the school and the track team. They were all stupid and I could _actually_ hear how stupid it all was in your voice. How stupid I was, feeling something that wasn’t all about Izzie. Wasn’t all about myself. Made me remember this high school, all its dark corners, and all its baby bullies. 

So, maybe it was still all about me but it was all I needed to make a phone call I was only slightly embarrassed to make because it was in front of you and I wasn’t sure I was ready for you to see that much of me. I still wasn’t ready to just _sit next to you_. But my family always came first, even above my pride, or my stupid fears (both sometimes belonging to that very family), so I made that call. I put everything before you, before myself, and it made me forget about you for the briefest of seconds. 

“Baby? Do you have a kid?” Of all the things I thought you might ask from overhearing that conversation, that was not one of them, and _wow_ you must have thought pretty low of me. Then again, I really couldn’t blame you.

I responded like I couldn't blame you either. Scoffed, “Of course not. I’m not a moron.” For good measure, added “My mother is.” Even though I didn’t know why I was sharing the most personal piece of the puzzle of my private life, sharing it with the one person I couldn’t even share space with.

A moment of lightheartedness flashed across your face, like you were exhausted too but you were gonna keep connecting the dots between us. “Hey, mine too!” 

This was starting to feel like an _actual_ conversation, one without rules or boundaries or careful calculation and I didn’t know how I felt about that. “Not that it’s any of your business but I take care of my three siblings.”

But I kept sharing more and more pieces of that puzzle. 

“You do?”

Because maybe it felt kind of nice telling someone something with a shred of truth to it. It had been so long since I had someone to share literally anything with, not since the unsolved mystery of a sleepover, and I realized that choosing to jump from that diving board was a whole lot better than being pushed.

“Yeah.”

“So, you’re not a bazillionaire?” You asked the same question I had been asking myself about you, giving me an answer in the process.

Gave me enough curiosity to keep this conversation going. “Not yet.”

I could feel you hesitating, like you were on the edge, ready to jump into the air. Ready to join me out in the open. I could feel it. A sea change was unfolding, was swirling all around us, swirling us with it, redirecting us.

“My brother has autism so I’m, like, constantly looking out for him.”

That was kind of all it took. A little bit of your reality thawed a lot of my bitchy resolve. Wore that fear down to half size. Finally, I felt like Izzie Davis and I was ready to act like it. 

“I didn’t know that.” I didn’t even have to try. I actually didn’t know that. I was curious. I was more than curious. And you looked a little vulnerable, looked how I felt on the regular. 

I realized I didn’t know anything, and not just about you, and maybe I should do something about that.

As if you heard me, you gave me a look. “Dude, how would you know that? You, like, barely talk to me.” 

I laughed a little. Because you were right. You were so right. And I was exhausted. I was so tired of hiding, of fighting, of running from no one but myself. 

“I talk to you.” Maybe you weren’t so bad. Maybe you weren’t the competition, or an iceberg, or an eclipse ( _oh, but you were, I just had no idea yet_ ), maybe you were only Newton, the new girl. “I just say mean things.”

Finally, we shared a laugh. The first laugh. The one I would seal in my memory because it felt so good. Felt like letting out a breath I had been holding since I started this school. 

It was silent for a period of time that would have normally caused alarm, would have had me fidgeting, feeling wet and exposed. That day, that moment, something had changed. Things were different, just like that, and I was content just to swim in the waters of something brand new.

“You know, you…” You hesitated, like you felt it too. You breathed deep. “...are not what I expected.” You dove off that board.

It was nice not being so alone, falling and trying to catch my breath. It was really nice having you there, beside me, in a seat so close to me. So, I stopped thinking about it so much. Told you about all the idiots of this school. The secrets I had learned, the things that everyone hid (like it was a warm up to sharing some of my own) I filled in the blanks of Quinn and Penelope, unloaded all their secret truths, so that we could write about them together.

So, we could laugh about them together. Which was exactly what we were doing. Until – “But, for me? This school, what I do here, it matters. I feel like I have to be perfect all the time. And it’s exhausting.”

There it was. The secret I hid. The truth. All of my truths from all my past lives and past mistakes. I wasn’t prepared to share any of those. Literally felt exhausted just from admitting them, even if it was a small portion of what I felt.

You looked like you knew, could see that. I started to think you could see all of it. “Is that why you were such a dick to me?”

With anyone else, with my family or my boyfriend, with the track team or any of the lost girls of my past, I would have run for the hills. Left an Izzie shaped hole in the door. 

But, truthfully, the proximity was starting to feel nice. Was starting to feel better than nice. It was _so_ good to have a friend again. Not just any friend. I was starting to realize that maybe it was nice _having_ you. So, I shrugged. “Probably.” And then I tore up and threw away all those rules, the ones I had so carefully and carelessly created. Laughed, “Or, I might just be a dick.”

You gave me another look, one you didn’t think I saw. And, sure, I didn’t really see it, not straight on. But I felt it. I felt your eyes all over me, and it felt nice in a way I wouldn’t be able to describe for almost a whole year. 

It felt nice in a way that had me wanting more.

  
  


* * * *

I don’t know what made me get that vodka bottle from Quinn’s locker. After all, I didn’t have the best track record with the stuff. In fact, I could trace all my life’s troubles back to a red label bottle.

It was just something about the air. The sea change. The way you talked about wanting to get out. The way you talked about how it’d never happen. I knew a thing or two about that. Especially when you talked about your family needing you.

I knew way more than a thing or two about that.

So, I grabbed that bottle without a second thought. Felt it more like a celebration than a way out, than a bad decision. That bottle was a peace treaty, a promise to not go back to the way things were. The way _I_ was. 

“I’m tired of trying to be perfect all the time. How about for once we stop caring about everyone else?” It was also a promise to myself, a promise to stop caring so much about things I couldn’t even define. A peace treaty from me to me to not be so damn hard on myself, and maybe everyone else. Maybe you. “I raided Quinn’s locker.”

I was ready to stop caring about you. Maybe start caring in a different way. In a way that made it just a little bit harder to look at you fully while I presented you the bottle, a contract waiting to be signed. Kept my eyes trained on it in my hand, laughed at it and at myself because the longer that promise hung in the air, the harder it was to do anything else.

(If I had been looking, I would have seen the same feeling reflected in you. Would have seen the way your eyes almost smiled at me, the way you were so relaxed, and we hadn’t even started drinking yet.)

  
  


* * * * 

“She hasn’t always been terrible. I mean, when I was younger, she was really together and fun. Then my dad left and she had an injury at work and started taking pain killers and just spiraled from there. Sucks." 

Again, I don’t know how we got to this place where I wasn’t only giving you pieces to the puzzle of my life, but was putting it together _right_ in front of you. Turned over pieces I never dared even looked at when I was alone, didn’t even realize they were there. Like – “Anyways, it’s like my life’s goal to be nothing like her.”

That was something I didn’t know I felt. Had never seen it in the light of day, had never inspected in the dark of night, when it was just me and my own thoughts. 

But a good portion of the bottle was gone already. And the vodka was still warm on my throat. Coated it like a serum that spurred me on and on. Created a safe place for me to join you on that minuscule couch. Gave me permission to stare a little more openly, giggle a little louder, a languid lilt to my laughter that felt like a foreign exchange student. I didn’t even know I could make a _sound_ like that.

You were on the same page. Finally, we were in the same place together, both on the same serum. You had flipped open your own book, the one I had already thought was wide open. Didn’t know there was more to it than what you had already willingly shared. Oh, but there was more ( _so much more, I was barely past the introduction)_ . Like, the real reason you punched that girl in the face at your old school (She _totally_ deserved it). Like, how you adore your brother even if he’s sometimes a “royal pain in the ass” (I already couldn't wait to meet him, meet Sam). Like, how you were “allowed to say that because I love him and I’ve earned the right."

You were laid back right next to me on that couch, and you were looking _very_ relaxed.

“Oh, my God, dude. Me too.” You were looking a _touch_ drunk. You threw your mug into mine, a little haphazardly. “Cheers.” 

You were looking straight up _adorable_. 

It was a fact I could not avoid, could not stop noticing. And I didn’t want to. I was noticing every single inch of you, feeling bold enough to blaze you into my memory and in a former sober life it would have had me asking a million and one questions about what that might mean, but in that moment it only felt like a million and one questions had finally been answered.

“To be honest, half the reason why I spend so much time with Nate is because I don’t wanna go home.”

There was literally nothing holding me back at that point. The serum had worked its way into my bones, seeped into the depths of my subconscious. I was letting it _all_ out. 

And _God_ did that feel good. 

“Not because he’s your boyfriend and you love him very much?”

And _God_ did you just keep getting more unbelievably adorable. It was borderline criminal. Why was I only just seeing this? Why did it take liquid in a bottle to notice the lightening in a bottle before me?

I sat with your question for what felt like hours but was probably only seconds. Time seemingly stood still while I rolled the answer around in my mind for a good bit. Collected and gathered up all my chips, decided just how much I wanted to put on the table.

“No. Nate’s awesome but sometimes it just feel not quite right with him. Like he’s from a different planet and won’t ever know what it’s like on my planet. Do you ever feel that way with Evan?”

I went _all_ in. I wagered all the words I never knew how to process, let alone say. The big, bad truth was out there for anyone to take or give away and I was ok with either outcome. I was so happy, so relieved, the whole world could have ended right then and I wouldn’t have cared. 

“No.” Because you were so sweetly tipsy. “No.” Because you were so cutely chuckling. “Not really.”

Because I finally felt like myself, for maybe the first time in my entire life, felt a laugh bubble up from basically my heart it was so happy. “Lucky ho. Jeez.”

I had never been so playful, so cheeky, or so loose. The rubber band around my life had all at once snapped, releasing me from the grip of myself. It felt so good that I connected my eyes with yours, smiled even wider, titled my head the slightest bit. Said, “Seriously, though, that sounds awesome.”

You nodded absent-mindedly, not totally present. Whispered, “Yeah. It is.” Your eyes had taken a thousand mile long journey, like I could see you flipping through the Rolodex of every awesome memory you and Evan shared. I felt the singe of something in my belly, the burn of jealousy bathing my body. I didn’t want to feel that, not when everything felt so good. So I told myself it was because you had something I didn’t have, had never had, and who cares if I had a little envy about that. I mean, who wouldn't?

Besides, I felt the start of something new. Something I once had but somehow lost and maybe I’d never know why that happened and maybe that was ok. Maybe this was a second chance. Maybe this was how you get around an iceberg, survive a Zombie apocalypse. 

“You know…” I took a swig of that near empty bottle, practically smirked when I was finished, “...you’re not what I expected either.”

I let myself eye you straight on, let myself linger there for a tad longer than necessary. I could tell it nearly sobered you completely. You didn’t know this side of me. Hell, I didn’t know it either. But I know I liked it. I _really_ liked it. Never knew what having a little bit of control and some sort of power over you might feel like.

It was _intoxicating_. And I was hammered off it. I was more drunk on it than all the cheap vodka stashed in Quinn’s locker, stashed in the entire world.

You laughed in a way I hadn't heard from you yet, almost breathlessly, looked just below my eyes. “Thanks.” It seemed like you were mildly uncomfortable, a little more than embarrassed. And, sure, maybe it was because you were getting drunker by the seeming second and this was getting a little too touchy feely. Maybe I was sounding like a stalker.

But, I also didn’t care. I was riding on the high of liquid courage. I was rolling on the ecstasy of having an effect on you. The thrill was exhilarating, and I would have gone full on junkie if it wasn’t for the way you laughed. The way you cut through the thickening air with it, like you were trying to find a way to breathe.

So, I gave it to you. “But, you’re still a ho.” 

That got a full on laugh out of you. Returned us back to normal. Our new normal. The one where we had become instant friends. 

“Takes one to know one.” You delivered it like you were a master of comedy, a crafter of comebacks, and while it was hysterically lame, it was also one more piece of adorable I still couldn’t deny, nor did I want to.

“ _Good_ one, Newton.” I quipped, lightly punched your leg, felt the innocent contact blaze back at me, felt it simmer down into my stomach. “Really original.”

“I’m sorry!” You tried sitting up straighter, but it only hysterically threw you more off kilter. “I’m kind of drunk right now. I’m not on my A-game.” You gently pushed me back, but that was sloppy and off center too, resulting in you hitting nothing but thin air. It frustrated you even more, sent your hands to point at me. “This is all your fault!”

You looked at me wide eyed, dead serious. You were worked up. Like the vodka, the serum, had hit you all at once and you finally knew it. 

And, I kinda felt bad about that. “Hey. It’s ok. I’m buzzed too.” I put the bottle down, made a mental reminder to not _forget_ it there in Coach’s office because that would be nothing like being pushed off a diving board, that would feel like being buried alive. “We got this. We’re gonna chug water. And when you get home take 3 Advil. You’ll feel like a brand new person by morning.”

You nodded slowly. Your eyes trained on nothing but me, listened to my every word like it was the holy grail. I wanted to laugh so badly because you looked ridiculous but you also looked, like, so serious that it felt a little wrong. 

You were practically making a mental checklist of The Plan. “Ok, but I’m not going home. I’m going to see Evan.” 

You look perturbed, like you couldn’t possibly pull off The Plan now that the location had changed. Your face turned to me for guidance, for answers on how to proceed, and I’ll admit it took me an embarrassingly long time to put together the pieces. Widened my eyes when it finally dawned on me. “Oh, right! Evan. Sure.” Shook my head like I was working through this with you, like I was just as perturbed. “I’m sure they have Advil at Evan’s house.”

The relief that graced your face, flowed through your body, was straight up hysterical. You _truly_ were not what I expected. Even though you were totally wasted (something else I felt kinda bad about, but not enough to regret it, no I wouldn’t go back and change this for the world) you were something else. You were like some unicorn, more than an eclipse, you were a magical creature.

And, I was hooked. I was addicted. I was ready to go full on junkie.

As if on cue, your phone buzzed. You grasped and fumbled for it when it was right on top of your lap. I giggled at the sight of it. Giggled harder as you held it laughably close to your face, like some sort of grandma, texting like some sort of infant. 

I almost wanted to help but wasn’t sure if we had become _those_ kind of friends quite yet.

“I have to go.” You announced, almost to no one. “Evan’s a loser and misses me.” But you were smiling and your voice totally betrayed the words. I knew not to believe a word of it, except for the missing part. I could tell that part was a two way street.

I thought to myself how nice that truly must be, to have a boyfriend like that. To have _anyone_ like that. I smiled at you because of it. “Well then, let’s get going, Newton.” 

A goofy smile covered your entire face before it was replaced with a quick look of concern, darted your eyes to Crawley’s desk like she was still sitting there, had been sitting there the entire time. 

I immediately reassured you. “Oh, I think we’ve more than served our time.”

The pleased look on your face was positively priceless. And, as we gathered up our things, I could still see it in the back of my mind. Knew it had been imprinted there. Along with the giddiness of the entire afternoon. The giddiness of _possibility_. 

“Izzie?” Your voice turned small, quiet, like it was testing the waters of what was still brand new. You waited until I looked back at you, continued, “You’re not going to be, like, a total dick to me again tomorrow, right?”

It was kind of heartbreaking to hear. I’m sure you could read it all over my face. My reaction to that realization was the opposite of priceless. I’m sure I looked almost completely bankrupt, having to finally hear about how I had treated you up to this point. 

It had me quickly answering, “No.” before I could even formulate words that might have better articulated my point, better painted the silent promise that had been made that was maybe a little too silent. “No, I’m done with all that.”

“Good.” You had your own smirk, gave me a new look, one I hadn't seen before (one I would later connect to every time I wondered if you were _flirting_ with me - something I would soon wonder _a lot_ ) “I like you better like this.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. I couldn’t formulate words, lke I suddenly forgot them all, like I was suddenly on your level and completely obliterated. I couldn’t articulate anything other than a smile that grew larger and larger on my face.

It didn't matter. I didn't need words.

You were already walking out the door. You were waving your hand back at me, called out, “See you tomorrow, loser!”

I giggled that same giggle from before. The one that was slow and warm, like molasses running from my chest to every extremity. I found myself still standing in Coach Crawley's office, just soaking it all in. The air of possibility.

I took it as the seal on a promise. A sacred contract. I took that contract and I filed it away in the library you had started building. Maybe just in that moment, in that office.

So I took that moment and I stored it away too. Built a card catalog to place it inside. Built a card catalog to place more inside, to place everything inside.

Suddenly, there was plenty of room for _possibility._

And, for once in my life, I couldn't wait for what was next.

* * * *

_(It had turned out obeying the butterfly effect wasn't so hard or so dangerous._

_It turned out neither were you. Not even close.)_

  
  
  



	4. casey interlude #1

Casey was drunk. She was _stupid_ drunk. She hadn’t really ever done that before, drank like that. Sure, there was that one time during freshmen year when Sharice had a post-meet sleepover and someone brought a Poland Spring bottle full of vodka that everyone took turns gingerly sipping from.

But this wasn’t like that.

 _No_ , Casey thought, clumsily, comically pedaling her bike to Evan’s. _This wasn’t like that at all._

Casey laughed out loud to only herself. She had never felt so free. So relaxed. The world felt warmer, fuzzier. She felt like she was literally flying. Like she was ET, floating up into the air.

There was a carousel of thought going round and round in her brain. It touched on everything, the vodka playing some sort of Bob Barker role in her life, spinning through every topic, stopping at random thoughts with no rhyme or reason. Like…

Running. Casey wished she was running, instead of floating. Running always made her feel something, and on a night like this, where Casey literally felt everything, all at once, all she wanted to do was run. Because Casey _loved_ to run. It was the one constant in a life that was constantly changing, and she made a _very_ ambitious plan to go for a morning jog before school the next day. Started mapping out the route she’d take until she got derailed because the wheel started spinning again, spun her to the last time she was running and the person she ran with and -

Casey smiled slow. She smiled wide. _Izzie_ . Casey stopped pedaling, coasted, let the wind move her. She really felt like she was floating and she wasn't sure if it was from the buzz or the afternoon. Maybe it was a little bit of both. She replayed it all. Remembered Izzie’s sweet laugh, just imaging it made her giggle a little to herself, and how, in an instant, she made Casey feel included after feeling _so_ excluded. Casey shivered, felt the icy air blanket her. It was cold, colder than it had been yet that year, and it sent her mind to colder places, like the Arctic and suddenly she saw penguins and –

Sam. Even with how difficult it could be sharing just about everything with him, Sam was really actually amazing and even though he was different he was honestly the coolest person Casey knew and though she would never admit it, she couldn’t imagine having a life without him. She shook her head to herself, started thinking about what she’d do in a few years when she was away at college and - 

Oh. _What was she going to do about that?_ Casey wondered and wondered. She pedaled hard again, the stress of _that_ topic moving her along. It was all she had wanted for as long as she could remember, but with every passing day it started to feel more and more like a dream from which she had just been woken. She tried so hard to recall the pieces, the details of what she had wanted but they seemed to vanish as quickly as they came to her. It was just like what she said in Coach’s office, what she had confessed to Izzie –

Casey saw her face again, saw it right beside her on the couch, saw it right up close. Izzie was pretty (Casey wasn't _blind)_ but she was different up close like that. She was so _pretty_ when she was so close that Casey could see the light freckles on her cheeks and her nose. Casey grinned. _She was also a lot prettier when she wasn’t being such a bitch_. Casey let out a sharp laugh, satisfied with her own observation, almost missed the turn to Evan's street she was so obliviously happy –

Oh, Evan. Sweet, simple, Evan. Evan was _so_ great. He was also easy which Casey seriously appreciated. He let her be who she was, and didn't try to change her. Casey felt an overwhelming rush of love for him flow through her body, a sense of urgency had set in, like she just _had_ to get to him. So she pedaled faster for his house but the gears were still too low and so the bike wobbled. Casey didn't notice. She was thinking about how she wanted to do _so_ many nice things for him. She made a mental note to run by his house in the morning-

Right, she was going for a run. She was going in the morning. Casey reminded herself to set an alarm so she would have enough time to have breakfast before taking off. Maybe Elsa would make some of those blueberry muffins Evan likes–

 _Ugh_. Elsa. A sour taste of something bitter settled in Casey's brain. She didn't want to think about Elsa. She was seriously the worst, but even worse than that, Casey used to think there was no one better. Back when she was a kid, Casey wanted so much of Elsa’s time, she wished for all of it, but it was always eaten up by Sam so she eventually stopped wanting so much. Learned to let her mother go, gave her fully to her brother. And –

_She hasn’t always been terrible. I mean, when I was younger, she was really together and fun._

Casey heard Izzie’s voice in her head. Heard Izzie everywhere as she parked her bike, didn’t care when it fell into the bushes. She was too busy recounting how easy it was to talk to Izzie. She wasn’t sure she had ever felt that way with someone. She could talk to Sharice, she really could. About everything and anything, but it was never like this. 

_This_ , Casey thought, _was entirely new._

It was all she could think about when Beth caught her traipsing through the house, careening towards Evan’s room. Casey saw her mixing batter for brownies, didn’t even wait to hear what kind they were, just stuck her hand into the bowl because suddenly she was _so hungry_ and the chocolate smelled _so good_ and her stomach was starting to make little noises that demanded attention. Casey made a mess of it in her hand, squeezed it between her fingers before inhaling it all in one fell swoop.

Beth didn't seem to notice, exclaimed _it looks like somebody forgot dinner_ , before she rattled off all the ingredients, then started telling Casey all about how these were her _I'm sorry_ brownies because she hit Sam with her car and he was such a _cutie patootie_ about it but _boy did she feel bad_ and Casey was so not present that it barely registered. She was caught up wondering what Izzie was up to, if she got home ok, if her mom was home, if the baby was ok.

The carousel spun faster and faster, but this time it landed on only one topic.

It made her goofy. Warmed her body from the inside out. Made her want to run, or at the very least move. So, she grabbed Beth, clunkily swayed her around the kitchen, and even through her stupor, Casey could see Beth was a little confused. Casey sensed a smidge of alarm in Beth’s voice when she said _Casey, you’re being such a silly goose tonight._

Casey immediately let her go. Even though she loved Beth, she realized there was nobody _fun_ in that house. There was no one on her level. No one but one person.

Man, _Izzie was fun_ . She was so fun and just so _cool_ and Casey pictured her at home, wondered if maybe she was dancing too because she seemed like the type to dance alone in her room, in front of a mirror and suddenly Casey wanted to text her so bad but wasn’t sure if that was the _cool_ thing to do. Maybe it was _too soon_ and she _didn’t want to seem like a stalker_. 

Beth was still talking but Casey had to keep moving. Found it so hard to stay in one place when everything inside her felt like it was on fire. So she thanked Beth for the brownies, thanked her for the _good talk_ , and made her grand entrance into Evan’s room. She still felt like she was floating and it made her so happy. Made her feel a little loopy as he noticed her, as he fumbled and collected himself. The sight made her want to shout _I love you_ but instead she thought about texting Izzie. Maybe it wasn’t too soon and _who cares what was cool_ because Casey had never worried about those things before so why was she so concerned now?

And then, _Are you drunk?_

Evan was looking at her like he never had in the past. Like something was wrong with her. It made the noise in Casey’s stomach churn a little louder. Suddenly, he looked so funny just sitting there with those silly headphones, so she laughed at him, asked _are you drunk_ because it kind of felt like she had been caught doing something wrong, something beyond drinking, and she didn't want to feel like that.

_This isn’t like you._

Casey wondered if there was anyone home at Izzie’s house and if there was anyone _judging_ her like this, with commentary about how _this isn’t like her_. She imagined if there were that Izzie wouldn’t back down or apologize. She’d stand up for herself. So, Casey did the same.

_Maybe it’s fine if you just don’t want to be perfect for one second._

Evan didn’t get it and Casey couldn't explain it. She wasn't sure she wanted to either. So, she kept it to herself, changed directions and topics fast because it was also the only thing she wanted to explain. The only topic she wanted to share. The day she had. The amazing friend she made. Izzie in general. She wanted to tell Evan everything, about how _funny_ Izzie was and how was such a good listener, and how Casey actually wanted to listen to her in return. 

But, she didn't feel right sharing all that with Evan. It felt wrong somehow - and then that didn't feel right either. This was a new feeling. Casey thought of herself as an open book, open to everyone except maybe Elsa. She had never felt a desire to keep some things ( _someone)_ to herself. She never kept anything from Evan. She didn't know how she felt about any of that.

Casey shook it all off because that was a pool of thought deeper than she could swim right now. 

So, she moved onto the pool she had started to know. Had started to understand a little more. _Contact_ . She was suddenly feeling super _amorous,_ felt it spreading through her body like wildfire. The thought of _sex_ was so appealing, and not just because she didn’t want to be talking about her choices anymore. Well, not unless she was talking about them with Izzie.

Izzie. The thought of sex was starting to wrap around Izzie, was starting to tie itself to her. Because Casey couldn't stop thinking about her face, about her smile, about her pretty hair. Everything about her was pretty and Casey really wasn't the type to notice something like that.

Casey made a mental note to tell Izzie about all of this. About how she was the prettiest girl Casey had maybe ever seen in real life. She reminded herself to mention it in that text she kept meaning to send.

She took off her shoe, dropped it as if this were some kind of strip tease, but then she couldn’t remember or be bothered to take off the other one, or take off anything else for that matter. She figured it was enough to get this party started. She was _really_ ready to have sex again. Because Evan was right there in front of her, and Izzie was also somewhere with her, buried in her mind, which set off a stranger storm of _want_ low in her belly. She had never felt something quite like that and so she blamed it on the alcohol. Blamed it for why she announced her sexy plan into the open, spelled it out for Evan, brought it into fruition. She clumsily sauntered over to him, and she was _really_ feeling herself, had never felt like such a sexual person, which she again blamed on the alcohol.

She made her big move to kiss Evan, but stopped just short, redirected. Something didn’t feel quite right. It felt still like something was hidden and she was wrong for hiding it.

Something had changed.

Casey wasn’t sure she wanted to have sex anymore. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to kiss. If Casey were honest, she wanted to text Izzie. And she wanted to say _a lot_ of things. But, then, she got a glimpse of herself in the mirror, wondered if what she saw was what Izzie saw earlier in Crawley's office. _You're pretty_ . She hadn't even realized she said it out loud. She was too busy grasping the idea that Izzie had seen all of her like she had seen Izzie. Suddenly this concept became the carousel and it was on an endless loop. Started spinning into thoughts of _I wonder if Izzie is thinking of me_ and _I wonder if she wants to text me too_.

She was caught up in this cycle when Evan announced he was going to get her water. _Water!_ Casey thought. Izzie told her she needed that. She also said she needed Advil. She had to tell Evan about this because it was important and she didn't want to let Izzie down. But, Evan was already gone and Casey was left to her own devices.

To her one important device. Her phone.

She searched for it everywhere but her own pocket, which was where it was all along. She held it embarrassingly close to her face, closed one eye while she searched the screen. Her heart literally skipped a beat, didn't know that could _actually_ happen, when she saw a message alert from Izzie. Izzie had already texted her. Izzie _was_ thinking about her.

_u get to evan's alright, newton?_

It made something else go off inside. Felt a warmth spreading from the outside in, coated every surface like sunlight on a forgotten beach. Casey felt a lazy smile on her face. She started formulating everything she wanted to say. Then, she erased everything. All of it. She was still stuck on how much was _too_ much to share. She wasn't sure her first text to Izzie should open with how she _couldn't get over how pretty she was_ or how _she had forgotten how to kiss her own boyfriend_ and how those two things were starting to feel more and more connected. 

She fumbled for the keys. Kept typing and deleting every word because nothing seemed to feel right. Everything felt _too_ much. Like her eyelids. They were feeling so heavy, kept threatening to close, and Casey worked so hard to fight against them. Struggled so hard to stay awake because she had to send something back. Had to send anything.

Finally, she settled on something. Finally, she realized that maybe the best way to say all she wanted was to say not much at all.

_hiiiiiiiiiii_

Casey was thoroughly pleased. She knew she had opened the door for more conversation, which was really what she wanted all along. It was what she wanted this entire night. Maybe even before tonight. Maybe it was all she wanted from the minute she first met Izzie. 

So, she opened the door for Izzie to join the conversation Casey was still having in her head. The one that kept replaying Izzie's face and Izzie's words, and _that_ laugh. Casey wanted _more_ of that. Casey wanted more of Izzie. She wanted _everything._

Suddenly, she couldn't _wait_ for school the next day which was just _so_ weird and so unusual and just flat out wrong that Casey couldn't even blame it on the alcohol.

 _No_ , she thought. _This was all Izzie._

The carousel was spinning again, around that thought, around Izzie, hopelessly on a forever loop. Or, maybe that was just the room in general. Casey had to shut her eyes. The whole afternoon, the whole night was catching up to her. The vodka was making her so dizzy and so sleepy and she was ok with that, because the sooner she slept the sooner she'd be back at school and the sooner she could talk to Izzie more. There was so much more she wanted to know.

She couldn't wait.

Sleeping that night felt like Christmas Eve.

And, when she woke up, in some stranger's bed in a world of hurt, she'd feel a slight rush of panic. Not because she didn't know where she was. Not because Elsa was suddenly there, and they _had a lot to talk about_. No, it was something a little more to do with the fact that Elsa came armed with water and Advil and all she could think about was the one person she couldn't stop thinking about. Not even in her dreams.

Casey felt the sharp panic of waking up from a night that couldn't be remembered. Felt the fear of a forgotten text, the angst of trying to fill in the pieces.

She could barely wait through Elsa's motherly diatribe about the dangers of drinking before she grabbed her phone. 

_hi, you dork. glad you're still alive. see you soon._

Casey felt all the panic exit her body, felt it flow from her heart straight out her fingers. She smiled that same lazy smile from the night before, felt the same giddiness ripple across her chest. And sure she was in so much trouble and the ache hammering through her head was unlike anything she had ever experienced...Casey didn't really care.

 _No_ , she couldn't have cared less.

Because Casey still felt like she was floating, and it was so much better in the morning. It was so much more freeing. Because in the morning, it wasn't the alcohol that carried her.

In the morning, Casey was flying high on nothing but the air of possibility. 

And it had never felt so light. Or so real.

  
  



End file.
